


In restless dreams I walk alone

by lloydsglasses



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:14:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4384184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lloydsglasses/pseuds/lloydsglasses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Túrin hides in trees and Lalaith makes crowns out of flowers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In restless dreams I walk alone

“Don’t you want to play with me?”

Lalaith looks up at him from her spot next to the river, where she sits weaving daisies together. It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but Túrin almost fell off his branch in surprise when his sister started talking to him. He hadn’t expected her to _say_ anything; she doesn’t normally see him when he hides in the trees.

Lalaith is gazing at him expectantly, and Túrin suddenly realises he hasn’t answered her yet.

“Why don’t you come and play?” She smiles at him. “I’ll teach you how to do a flower crown.”

Túrin thinks about that. It sounds like it could be fun, learning how to make a flower crown with his sister. But then, he also wants to stay in his tree. He’s supposed to be guarding her and he can’t really do that if he’s too busy looking at daisies.

So Túrin shakes his head, hoping that she’ll understand.

Instead, Lalaith’s smile droops a little. “You never want to play anything with me,” she sighs, turning so that she’s facing away, towards the river. Her hands are blocked from Túrin’s sight.

He wonders again if it would be better to get down from the tree. Before he can reach a decision he hears his mother’s voice calling out, beckoning them both to come in for some food. Lalaith jumps up and skips back through the trees, leaving Túrin to scramble down from his branch and hurry after her.

The daisies are left abandoned on the ground.

\--

“And how are you feeling this morning, little heir?”

Túrin doesn’t answer because his throat feels dry and it hurts to talk. His nurse gazes at him intently, running her fingers through his tangled hair. He wishes she were his mother.

He wants to tell his mother that his dreams are dark and frightening, and he wants her to sit with him at night so that he doesn’t have to be alone when he wakes. But when he asks for her, Túrin is told that she is sat with his sister. Lalaith is sick too, his nurse tells him, and her illness is even worse than Túrin’s own. 

He wishes he could do something to help. Maybe when he is a little better he could collect some daisies and bring them to his sister. He thinks that Lalaith would still enjoy teaching him how to make a flower crown.

\--

“Urwen is dead, and laughter is stilled in this house.”

His father explained death to him once, but that was some time ago and Túrin hadn’t really understood it.

He knows that it means Lalaith has gone to sleep for a while but he isn’t sure how long it will be until she wakes up. His nurse will not answer any questions and says that he should ask his mother about Urwen instead, but his mother’s eyes seem cold and hard so Túrin holds his tongue. He hasn’t asked his father either, because a few days ago his father broke his harp and started shouting furiously at the sky, and ever since then Túrin has been too scared to go near.

So he doesn’t ask. Túrin says nothing at all as he collects daisies and puts them in a pot next to Lalaith’s bed, hoping that she’ll enjoy seeing them when she wakes.

\--

“She will not come back. But where she has gone no man knows; or I do not.”

Túrin cries that night. He chokes and gasps for breath, swiping ineffectively at the tears that just won’t stop, and his shoulders shake as he turns his face into the pillow, hoping that no one else can hear his awful sobbing. 

Lalaith isn’t coming back. She isn’t ever going to wake up.

Túrin cries that night, and wishes desperately that he had sat by the river and let his sister teach him how to make a flower crown.


End file.
